


Hedonistic Me

by arowana



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, baby's first fanfiction, lazy farmer and vet au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arowana/pseuds/arowana
Summary: One unvaccinated cow. Two men, living in the country in search of new purpose. A whole plethora of disabled cats.





	Hedonistic Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god, here it is.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever published, so I hope I did alright. Mac and Dennis' characterization is pretty damn hard at times.
> 
> Very light warning for some animal neglect and also kind of descriptive details of food if you're not into reading that. Otherwise, this is pretty light-hearted and self-indulgent.
> 
> Also this is very very very loosely based on the Trundle AU that ravaged tumblr, but the only ideas I really borrowed were Mac and Dennis in the country and Dennis as a farm vet. Most of it is based off of personal experience working on my sister's farm and working with her farmer friends. If you ever want to support a wealthy lifestyle and be country folk definitely consider being a vet.
> 
> I also didn't have a beta so any misspellings or grammar errors are my mistake. I hope you can enjoy!

If you traveled down the main road for about four miles, then turned right on Homer Lane, then right again, then left, you’d arrive at the shoddy farmhouse in which a Mac McDonald resided. He lived there alone, if you didn’t include the three horses in the barn, the lone dairy cow, the five barn cats, the two dogs, and the bustling chicken coop in your headcount.

Mac was currently in his kitchen, filling a pot with water to put in the stove. Once the water started boiling, he carefully deposited six farm-fresh eggs. He observed that after cooking for about a minute, they started floating to the surface -- rotten, every last one. He wordlessly whined to no one in particular. “Goddammit. I hold off picking up eggs for three days…”

A knock resounded through the front foyer. Mac trudged through a thin layer of hay and trash to open the door. He’d had a neighbor coming over lately, a stout woman who would begin by complaining about the junk in his yard and end by trying to come onto him. Mac expected she was making her seventh appearance that week. He swung open the door with apathy. “Look, I’ll pick up my shit this weekend, just leave me alone.”

Although, instead of a stout woman, he was met by a skinny man. “I don’t remember you talking about any shit, but I do remember you talking about routine vaccinations for your cow.” the man said.

“You’re...Are you the vet guy I called?”

“That’d be me. But it’s Dr. Reynolds to you.” Dr. Reynolds peered past him to observe his admittedly dismal home. He tutted in distaste. Mac did the same once-over to the man’s choice of dress. A pastel blue button down, crisp khakis, a pair of pristine tennis shoes. He had a city boy on his hands. A stupidly nice-looking city boy.

“Mkay, Dr. Reynolds, then follow me back this way. I’m Mac, by the way.”

Mac went around the side of his house to an open rolling pasture flanked by towering pine and oak trees. Jiffy, his ever faithful dairy cow, awaited in the very front pasture. She was a pretty Jersey that Mac had acquired from his late cousin. Out of all his animals, Mac made sure to tend to her the most. He could be rather negligent of his other farmstock, but not because he meant to be -- he took so many animals under his wing in the initial excitement of moving out to the country. He didn’t realize he’d have his work cut out for him.

“There she is. She just needs, like, all the stuff you give other cows. I don’t think she’s ever been vaccinated, and my neighbor suggested I get her treated, so.” Dr. Reynolds cut him off with a stiff hand in the air.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll get to work. And you can go get my payment.”

“Ah, yeah, about that. How much will it be?” Mac asked, his voice lifting in sudden humility.

“Thirty dollars.” Mac shrunk in on himself like the words hurt.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I have that much.”

Dr. Reynolds gave him a withering look. “You don’t have thirty dollars.” It wasn’t a posed as a question.

“Look, okay, maybe, but not for free spending! You gotta know what I mean.” He got levelled with another look, but he took notice that this one was much less pointed.

“I don’t know if I can treat your cow, then.”

Mac rubbed at his temples, looking for an out. He would love to let this go, but after reading up on diseases such as mad cow disease and all the others, he didn’t want Jiffy to go on unvaccinated. On the flipside, was it really that taxing for Dr. Reynolds to do this? Surely there were worse things he could be treating. “No, no, look. I’ll make it up to you. I have fresh cuts of steak in the freezer, my buddy Charlie tells me I’m a good cook. Stay for dinner.”

Dr. Reynolds eyes narrowed. “You mean to pay me in a meal that’ll take up my time and might taste bad.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I am. _Please._ It doesn’t even have to be the full cost, just shave off like, fifteen bucks.”

Dr. Reynolds sighed. There were five beats of silence in which Mac stood in nervous anticipation. “Fine. Goddammit. Yeah. I’ll vaccinate your cow and you better give me the best goddamn home cooked meal you have to offer.”

Mac shot back a grin. “Oh, you won’t be disappointed, Dr. Reynolds.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

So maybe Dr. Reynolds was going to be disappointed.

Mac had tried grilling the first two steaks but had instead managed to cook them to solid pucks. He now was in his kitchen, leaning over the stove with a myriad of seasonings in hand. Some crushed garlic clove. Two whole garlic cloves, just for good measure. Thyme. Is that enough thyme? More thyme. Black pepper, goddammit, _black pepper._ He felt his hands and face grow clammy over the flame’s insistent heat.

Dr. Reynolds was expected in less than a minute. Usually, he wouldn’t feel so rushed to finish, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sit down and talk to the man more than he had to. And he wasn’t sure Dr. Reynolds was the waiting kind either.

The door echoed with three knocks, each an impending reminder that Mac was fucked. He did a final once-over of his newly cleaned house, tossed a kitchen towel over his shoulder, and walked to the front door in jittery haste.

Dr. Reynolds greeted him with a thin smile and a wine bottle in hand. “Come in, the steak’s done in the kitchen.” He weaved once again through the foyer and living room to (proudly?) present his kitchen. Mac watched closely as Dr. Reynolds sat down stiffly at his table. He quirked his eyebrows in response to the silence that settled between the two.

“Okay, we have a t-bone and a fancy little filet mignon. Guest gets first pick,” Mac paused to laugh. “What would you prefer, Dr. Reynolds?”

“Filet mignon. And it’s Dennis. I’m off duty.”

Mac plated each steak and gave a healthy dose of roasted potatoes with Dennis’ filet mignon. “Dennis. How’d you become a vet?” Might as well make small talk, he thought to himself.

“Dunno. I went to UPenn and thought it would be worth it. You know, didn’t want to spend my Ivy League education on the humanities. I was gonna do only cats, dogs, stuff like that, but I liked the professor who taught courses on livestock.”

“Dude, that’s awesome. I’m pretty all over the place, just getting some cash here and there, you know? Some of the neighbors know I’m good with engines, so they’ll bring me their cars and bikes and stuff, I’ll sell eggs, I had a couple meat cattle I took to the slaughterhouse a little bit ago. Steak tonight was actually one of my own. It’s cool, the country. It’s tough.”

Dennis hummed in acknowledgment. Mac handed him his plate, then took the seat across from him. “So you haven’t lived in the country your whole life, then?” Dennis inquired.

“Nah. I grew up in Philly, but like, not much was going on for me there, you know? And my cousin lived out here, and he was badass and had a good time, so I thought it might be a good idea. Can’t say I’m doing much, but I am having fun.” Mac took a bite of his steak, and Dennis did the same. Mac observed him closely to see any sign of approval.

“Holy shit.” Dennis looked up from his plate and into Mac’s eyes. “This is actually really good. Little well done, but the seasonings man, it makes up for it.” Mac triumphantly pumped his fist. The extra garlic had paid off. He thought he saw a little genuine smile on Dennis’ face.

“Dude, awesome! Does that like, warrant half off the price then?”

Dennis stayed silent for a moment. “You said you grew up in Philly?”

“What does that have to do with the money?” Mac wondered aloud. “But yeah, I did.”

“I did too. Hey, how about I cut you a deal? You can get the vaccinations free, but only if you come over to my place for dinner.”

Mac’s eyes widened both at the offer of not having to pay and the implication of his request. “Are you hitting on me?”

A couple emotions flitted across Dennis’ face. One: disappointment. Two: apprehension. Three: joy. Four: apprehension, again. “What! No. I just told you I’m Ivy League educated, you’re white trash, no. No, of course not.” he said, more talking to himself.

Mac brushed off the initial odd feeling of disappointment. It didn’t feel good on him. “Well point A, I am not white trash, and point B, yeah. I’ll come over to your place.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Dennis sat in his living room, awaiting the arrival of Mac. He looked around at his eclectic living space, filled to the brim with ins and outs he found interesting or had already been there before. It was a controlled chaos, his farm was, and it was all his. There was a certain power he enjoyed in having so much to himself, but with it came isolation. He had Sweet Dee living in the summer house on the property, but Dennis had had her his whole life - nothing was new between them anymore. 

What he felt in loneliness was made up in the amount of animals he kept. Many had been left at his place after the owner didn’t come back for their pet, or when they were scared away by one of Dennis’ outbursts. Most of his company was made up in rejected pet cats: one-eyed cats, deaf cats, blind cats, plain old barn cats, cats with neurological disorders and diabetes and missing limbs. Dee often mocked him for naming and caring for every last one. _“Other farmers, you know, the normal ones? When they have as many cats as you do, they just become ‘orange cat’ and ‘black cat.’ And they have working cats.”_

It was his farm. His broken cats. Broken cats to accompany a broken man.

His daze was broken by the ringing of the doorbell. Dennis rose and jerked open his decrepit front door. Maybe vintage style wasn’t always the way to go.

Mac was actually kind of dressed up. He wore a dark green polo, black dress pants, and his combat boots were cleaned of their usual muck. “Howdy.” he said with a chipper smile, making himself at home by immediately shouldering Dennis off in order to enter. Dennis was about to make a snappy comment, but kept it to himself to save face.

“So, what do you have planned for tonight?” Mac asked as he settled down on the couch. He sprawled his legs across the cushion; he found it oddly endearing to see Mac getting comfortable in his home.

“Well first, asshole, I’m gonna have you take your feet off my couch.”

Mac pouted. “Damn. You’re one prickly guy, Dennis.”

“Is that right? Well. I have dinner in the oven, so I guess for now we can just converse.” He sat himself on the reading chair beside the couch and lolled his head in order to fully look at Mac. His hair looked nice, he thought absently, but probably sticky to the touch.

“Well, y’know, I don’t see any physical improvement in Jiffy, but I guess vaccination is for prevention anyway. So, thanks for doing that. And thanks for making it free.”

Dennis blinked. _Jiffy? Oh, the cow._ “It’s my job. Literally. No need to thank me.” he said. “You told me you moved to the country because you were inspired by your cousin or something? How long ago was that?”

“I moved out here about seven years ago. So, not too long. But I feel like I really belong out here, you know? Much less busy. And…” Mac took pause.

“And?”

“Well, my family is a bit complicated. My dad’s a meth dealer, or he was. He’s in prison. My mom, God bless her, is just sorta emotionally absent. My cousin, Country Mac,” Dennis couldn’t help but snort.

“Country Mac? Your family sounds real creative, too.”

“Hey! Okay, I guess it’s kind of ridiculous. But anyway, Country Mac lived out here, and he was a lot of what I wanted to be. Turns out, he was always in such a great mood because he was such a big drunk. He got killed in a motorcycle accident. Motorcycles are dangerous, being shitfaced all the time is dangerous, and believe it or not the consequences are deadly.” Dennis observed his strained smile. Was Mac always this ready to overshare? “So I guess you can’t escape my family’s quirks when you’re me. It’s alright though. I work well out here.”

Dennis contemplated where the conversation could go from here. He could divert it to a more pedestrian topic, or he could divulge Mac with his own inner thoughts. Sharing was never Dennis’ forte because of his guarded nature. Sharing was weakness; Dennis was not weak. He conceded. “I grew up in the city too, as I told you, but my family has always owned this place. My dad had workers living here while my sister and I grew up. I never thought I’d live in the country because, well, I like nice things.”

“I noticed. This place isn’t glitzy but you definitely have a lot of stuff. And cats. A hell of a lot of cats. My buddy Charlie loves cats too.” Mac said, perfectly in time with Special Agent Jack Bauer to start rubbing up against his calves on the couch.

“Yeah. The cats are from various clients, or ex clients in most cases. I moved out here after graduating mostly because it’s a vet’s paradise for money-making, and because there was that fresh-start appeal. The country is nice, but I sure as hell wish I had more time with other people. Which is part of the reason I invited you tonight, I guess. You definitely fill time with your incessant babbling.”

“I’m gonna ignore the insult and focus on the compliment. Me, good company? Dennis, you charmer!”

Dennis quirked a smile. “Shut up, hick. I can take that back, you know. Your house definitely isn’t good for company.” He rose to his stereo system and put on his usual mix of 80s music as Mac whined in response. Mac made a face as the techno notes boomed. Dennis made his way over to pat him on the knee. He felt satisfactory at the pink that blossomed on Mac’s face from the simple touch. “I’m gonna go make up appetizer.”

“Not with this clown music playing. Seriously, bro, look outside. This is the country. And you know what that calls for!”

Dennis got up and made his way to the kitchen. “Play any hick hop and I’m putting a restraining order on you.”

“No, dude, c’mon. I can have taste too.”

He whipped around to face Mac and set his hands on his hips. “Really? Show me. Play me the classiest country song you know, if you can find any.”

“Country isn’t classy. It’s good. But I will show you.” Dennis turned back from Mac once more as he started fiddling through his CD collection.

“Jackpot! What are you doing with a copy of OCMS if you hate country so damn much, huh?” Mac called.

Dennis shrugged at the oven even though he was aware Mac couldn’t see him. “That was probably my sister, Dee’s, buy. When she moved out here with me she tried to fully adopt the lifestyle.”

His 80s mix was cut off and he heard the muffled sounds of Mac depositing the CD. The system whirred to life once again, followed by the choppy sounds of Mac skipping one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten songs. “Now this,” he unnecessarily yelled, “is the country man rite of passage!”

“I’ve been living in the country longer than you have, asshole.”

“Still a city boy in the eyes of God if you haven’t heard this one,” Mac ducked his head, followed by the rest of his body, into the kitchen. “Is it ringing any bells?”

The song sounded like the stereotypical start to any country song. Acoustic strumming, the addition of a fiddle, the twangy plucks of a banjo. Dennis shook his head.

The singer finally started in. _“Headed down south to the land of the pines,”_ Mac rumbled along, slightly offkey but surprisingly not horrible. _“I made it down the coast in seventeen hours, pickin me a bouquet of dogwood flowers. And I’m a hoping for Raleigh I can see my baby tonight.”_

The distracting part was Mac’s dance moves. Or, rather, just moves. His motions were jerky and energetic which badly contrasted with the rolling-thunder nature of the song. Dennis had to hide a mirthful smile behind his hand.

 _“So rock me mama like a wagon wheel, rock me mama anyway you feel. Hey,”_ \-- and Mac really made sure to hold out that ‘hey’ with all his might -- _“Mama rock me. Rock me mama like the wind and the rain, rock me mama like a south-bound train!”_

“C’mon Dennis! Dance along with me!” Mac interrupted during the second verse. Dennis started to half-heartedly bop along, tapping his foot and swaying in time. “No, do better, get into it!”

Dennis responded by laughing and making his swaying more languid and theatrical. Mac had this sunny smile on his face that he took time to admire, even though he looked so damn stupid as he swung his forearm through the air and roundhouse-kicked out. Dennis threaded his thumbs in his beltloops in true cowboy fashion and swayed over to and around him, a silent “can I have this dance?” Mac failed to pick up on it.

“Hey, Mac, come here a moment.”

“Yeah, Den?” he took one stride over and Dennis seized the opportunity to grab hold of his cheeks, planting a scorching kiss on his lips. Mac jerked back and gave him one look of unadulterated amazement before diving in himself, all tongue and slobber but all Dennis wanted. He pulled away once again. “Holy shit. So you really were hitting on me, huh?”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Not originally. Or maybe. Whatever.” Dennis looked down at his hands, suddenly clammy and useless. “I’ll admit it. It’s a pretty good song.”

Mac grabbed his face once again, and Dennis pursed his lips in anticipation but to no avail. Mac kept him at a safe distance and chuckled in what sounded like disbelief. “I don’t know if all that was ever part of the country man rite of passage. I think...I think I’m alright with it, though.”

Dennis wordlessly grabbed his hand and started leading him out of the kitchen, but not before smelling burning food. “Shit. Oh my god, of course this has to happen.” He let go of Mac to open the oven to a burnt roast chicken. “God dammit. Are you still hungry?”

“Hey, no need to worry. Dinner would totally be a mood killer anyway.” Mac grabbed his hand once again. “Do you want to go back to what you were doing before?”

“Yeah. That’d be nice. Lead the way.” Mac gave him a crinkle-eyed smile. He guided them to the couch and sat down before Dennis. Dennis mindlessly straddled him and dove right back in. Mac tended to his mouth for a while before moving his open lips to Dennis’ cheek, his jawline, his neck, feather light and so very gentle. He felt Mac pull away.

“Dennis, you’re crying.” he said as Dennis watched as a single drop rose out of his eyes, too. It wasn’t anywhere close to where he was at.

“Mac, you’re crying.” he replied with a laugh muffled by his wheezing. “Oh God Mac, I overcharged you in the first place anyway. Thirty dollars is too much for some vaccinations. Mac, I should’ve only charged you twenty.”

“Are you seriously crying over that right now, dude? It's fine."

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m always so lonely here, Mac.” He rested his closed fists on Mac’s broad chest and his forehead on his shoulder. “Can you play that song again?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Seven months later, and Mac moved his livestock -- including precious Jiffy -- to the property of Dennis Reynolds. Dee had admonished them for moving too fast, citing an apparent failed marriage Dennis had, but the two paid no mind. Mac’s place was admittedly a shithole, and they were admittedly grossly in love.

The country wasn’t lonely to either of them anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> The song in the dancing scene was Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show, and it was indeed very very necessary..
> 
> I'm over at geekbronze on tumblr


End file.
